La Rottura di Omérta
by inkburn
Summary: Preamble: We are the ones without face, the ones wandering endlessly as our fate. We are without names, without race. We are prisoners of our own hate. For you, the rats, we are waiting to deliver the reckoning.
1. Preamble: La Rottura di Omérta

Hi! If you are one of my readers for the story "The Right Rewrite of Right", I'm taking this opportunity to say that it's on a temporary break until I can recover some of my files for the next chapters (and partly to let the official manga get a little ahead). But don't despair! "T.R.R.o.R." is not dead or on hiatus! I'm taking this chance to lay down some groundwork for some events (to serve as solutions to certain plot problems) that will take place in its future chapters with this new story. (Yes, it's another story...)

**_BUT!_**

If you haven't read **_"The Right Rewrite of Right_**" and its accompanying one- shots, **_"T.R.R.o.R.: The Declassified Files"_**, then I **_highly_** suggest you go and read them **_NOW_** before reading this one. You wouldn't be able to understand some things since this is meant to be a side- story for it.

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**Disclaimer: **I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

**Warning: **(For the future chapters...) Some things are not meant to be read by children.

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**La Rottura di Omérta**

By: Satirical Juxtapose

**"Premessa della La Rottura di Omérta„**

**("La Rottura di Omérta Preamble")**

Written: Sunday, July 06, 2008, 11:49:30 PM

Edited: Tuesday, July 22, 2008, 1:46:51 PM

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-+-

-+-"**La Rottura di Omérta"**-+-

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We are the ones without face,

The ones wandering endlessly as our fate

We are without names, without race

We who are prisoners of our own hate

-+-

We are the ones who walk in the shadows

And live amongst those in the light

We hear cries of orphans; the wails of widows

And are witnesses to the ends of those who fight

-+-

We are those who blur the lines between

The many worlds of dark and light

The world in the shadows; the unseen

And the visible; the world of light

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Oh, you who will not heed the signs

For you, the rats, we are waiting

From inside and behind these blurred lines

Over the grave and below, we are watching

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We for whom there is no end, no beginning

For every death; for every pain

We deliver the reckoning

Of the innocent and the slain.

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**TRASMISSIONE DELLA LIMA DI ARCHIVIO CLASSIFICATA 000 COMPLETA**

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**"Omérta**** Break" System Administrator's Notes!****:** -yawnboredinclass- This wasn't really meant to be a poem... but it ended up looking like one anyway (but don't harp on me about rhyme and meter and other shit. I **_know _**how to write poems but I'm too lazy to write a better one... besides... I hate writing poems... I've had to make too many of them in high school).

But if you want to call this crap a poem; then you're welcome to do so. XD

No, I hadn't suddenly turned to poetry; this is a sort of a prologue for this side- story. I'm still a bit further from completing it but it's going quite well... But I'm kind of stuck on what to do with "T.R.R.o.R." since losing my finished draft for Rewrite 007. TT-TT While I **_have_** a pretty good idea of what to do with things in the "future" of the KHR adults, I have quite a lot of problems to try solving in the "past" when they all get over there. (Why couldn't I just simply stick them in some random hotel or apartment and be done with it?) I just **_had_** to go and do the screwy and messed up way of explaining things... damn plot bunnies... They multiply too fast!

"**La Rottura di Omérta": **Well, I just typed in Babelfish(TM) the phrase **_"The Break of Omérta"_** and this came out. If it's wrong, please correct me.

**Preamble:** A preamble (Latin: _preambulare-_ "to walk before") is in a sense a prologue to a constitution. I'm writing the chapter titles to **_look_** like a constitution.

**Omérta: **Omérta is the unwritten law of silence for all members of the mafia. There is no definite statement of what it contains exactly since every mafia family's 'Omérta' is different. However, mafia families all agree on the same ideas; like taking revenge for a wronged family member, not relying on the authorities for help, obeying your boss regardless of your physical status, etc. I'll try to write what rules mafia rules in I can come up with as I go along with this story.

**_Italiano: _**I do not speak Italian. I used Babelfish(TM). If there are any mistakes in it, please let me know how they should really be written because I am only fluent in two languages, one native dialect, and a few words and phrases of Japanese.

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For continued archive file transmission connection:

1. Click the submit review button for (Y)

2. Click the Return to Top at the bottom of the page for (N) and reread the whole thing.

I wonder if making things this way is a big mistake...?


	2. Article I, Section 1: Come si Chiama?

Yay! Finally finished the first chapter! I only wrote this and the new one- shot in "T.R.R.o.R.: Declassified" every now and then during my breaks between classes (and in the time it takes to wait for a professor to show up).

On another note, I kind of got bored with writing "The Right Rewrite of Right" for a while (_because the manga is taking **so loooong**_...) The canon's plot is a bit... no, '_a bit_' is an understatement... It's **_incredibly_** screwy to work with in order to make some tie- ups with my story. I still haven't recovered some (most) of my drafts... TT-TT So "T.R.R.o.R." is '_a_ _little'_ messy to work with right now... (At least I don't have writer's block.) So... while I wait and see what happens in the manga, I decided to go ahead a write a somewhat different story (in preparation for 'certain' future chapters of "T.R.R.o.R.") and to hopefully clear up some things that can't be told in Gokudera's or Yamamoto's perspectives.

**This story (or collection of stories) is _completely made up. _**It's going to be about a certain group existing in the KHR! World. I haven't seen anyone write about them so I decided to go ahead and do it myself.

As of writing, it fortunately (or unfortunately?) has very few tie- ups with the canon story of KHR! (Most have to deal with the main "T.R.R.o.R." story).

This first story hopefully going to answer/ gloss over a certain unanswered question some readers of T.R.R.o.R. have brought to my attention in their reviews for Rewrite 03 and 04 of T.R.R.o.R. (I just wrote that Gokudera did what he did. I did not think in detail '**_how_**'****until recently. XP)

But all of my stories are not going on hiatus! I'm just busy with exams and research work for the next two or so weeks!

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**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn! I don't think I ever will. XP

**Warning: **Mature themes, swearing, mafia stuff, blood, death (seriously, someone's going to die here), graphic descriptions of violence (If you can't handle violence then why are you reading stuff rated 'M'...?)

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**"La Rottura di Omérta"**

By: Satirical Juxtapose

**Article I - "Dovere, Lealtà, Servizio e Morte"**

** Section 1: "Come si Chiama?"**

Written: Monday, July 21, 2008, 07:35:06 AM

Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2008, 09:28:58 PM

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**INIZIANDO SULLA BASE DI DATI CLASSIFICATA V-ORG/FAMIGLIA DELLA LIMA DI ARCHIVIO**

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**CARICAMENTO...**

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**COMINCI LA TRASMISSIONE DELLA LIMA DI ARCHIVIO CLASSIFICATA 001**

Earlier, you [1] imagined 'your' [2] cold, slightly shivering hands illuminated by orange flames were covered in blood: the late Boss' blood. 'You've' done your best to patch him up... But you knew by simply seeing his eyes that he would not make it before help could arrive.

He wasn't the first one you've seen who's had eyes like that... You've seen more than enough dying men's eyes than considered normal to know well enough who would be dying in a few seconds of getting shot and who would be in several minutes to hours of agonizing pain.

He was somewhere between those categories; in fact... the unlucky bastard died in less than three hours after he was shot... He didn't show it but he was in great pain. It was almost a complete pandemonium right after his shooting and the time it took until help had finally arrived was what made it seem like it took hours... (Luckily one of his _caporegimes_ [16] took charge... although somewhat).

Right in the middle of all that chaos, the Boss died; his Family left in danger from outside enemies and possibly threatening to destroy itself from inside.

It was only this Family's little fortune that they still had some allies left... Although very few had come forward; all the rest were being killed or in hiding.

'You' are being made to do the latter action with the rest of who remained after that attack.

That's what brought 'you' here: standing in front of a fire while trying to warm 'yourself' whilst the entire building is engulfed in the cold aftermath of a storm.

But as an operative... What a drag... Your schedule of completely erasing your list is now completely messed up by that fiasco. You really didn't count on the Boss suddenly being assassinated like that...

As a _Mafioso _of the Family, 'you' thought the Boss was a good man. But they're probably going to have to get a place ready [13] for him much, much, later... after this whole mess is cleared up; which would probably take a long time. ('You' thought this was disrespectful of 'yourself' but if this war continues there might not be anyone left to attend the unlucky bastard's funeral.)

But really, it's a pity. He deserves to have a nice funeral. After all, he was just as decent as the First Boss of his Family...

Now... _Why do you know if the Primo was decent? _

**_Hah_**... That's quite complicated to explain in layman's terms: what you know and learned is never actually meant to be told to anyone outside of yourself and others like you.

You simply know because of your training and affiliation with the Organization [3]. Translating all of that knowledge into layman's terms for an outside party will be having the Organization itself after your head.

But for your own benefit; to keep track of your own loyalty and identity, you ran through in your mind what you understand about the Organization and what it's for:

History is always written by the victors.

**_That_** is the rule of the human world.

Both sides of it.

The history of every mafia that has ever come into existence within more or less than four hundred years from now is being maintained by the Organization. (You're only estimating; you're not really sure how long the Organization has really been in existence... possibly long before the idea of the mafia was formed). It has kept track of every single one of them in the most frighteningly accurate way.

The underground world's history also tells of the victors' deeds; it's very biased, in fact.

There are very scant few records or memories of whatever happened to the losers.

Or even those caught in the crossfire.

The truth is... Hell, it's rare that anyone bothers to remember or keep alive the truth: the **_real_** bloody, ugly, beautiful and untouched truth.

No... Everything that everyone considers to be history is all glossed over or completely erased; made as if they never existed in favor of some political propaganda or some other similar shit.

That is only **_ONE_** of the reasons why the Organization was brought to existence: to keep that history; even though it will never be revealed.

To remember those that were in the middle of that crossfire...

For those who are unable to get their rightful dues...

The kind of work you really do is a twenty- four hour, seven days a week, three hundred sixty five days a year plus one day in a leap year kind of job.

It's not one you can **_really_** take vacations from.

Nor is it one you can really tell anyone about.

The whole underworld would go out of control if there was even one lazy link or blabber in this morbidly tangled web of the Organization. Which is why operatives _like **you**_ are **_here_**... in the **_bowels_** of families _like **this**_: to make sure that the crazy underworld maintains a semblance of order and sanity for all the chaos it's worth.

...And it has been that way ever since; long, long before the Organization came into formal existence.

But for all the Organization's efforts, the mafia continues to be as it is: the mafia.

_It's really a thankless job._

You figured there must be some kind of problem in the higher- ups if they have allowed something this large scale of anarchy to happen right now. It's put all operatives of the Organization within this Family on a standby mode until further notice.

Or at least that's what it looks like to someone of your rank.

You're not privy to all the very much classified info because of your position. It's usually your handler who gives you the goings- on and updates whenever you meet or communicate.

Within the Organization, whenever off assignment, you're not special: you're no prodigy nor are you of any distinction. All operatives of the Organization off duty (or undergoing training or before deployment for an assignment) are like that.

You all stay in what operatives of your rank and handlers from the Organization call "the blank slate state" [4] (because you're _literally_ blank slates then) until your handler calls on you to carry out an assignment. Before deployment for an assignment, every one of you low- rank operatives in the Organization '_look alike_', so to speak.

Once you are deployed for assignments, it is up to your handlers to give you your identity, as the higher- ups have dictated; and to determine whether or not 'you' stand out or work in the back.

Right now, '**_your_**' job and identity is 'the guy working in the back', the rather random, non- descript guy with a rather plain background story (when you say 'you', you're referring to your assigned identity): Grown up raised by a maternal uncle, mom died a little after 'you' were 'born', dad next when 'you' were about one (both of them dead in the line of service), had dreams of becoming a doctor (which is why the only other thing 'you're' good at is first aid). Probably the only thing that would be of any distinction about 'you' is 'your' cultural heritage (Spanish- Japanese; now that you thought of it, there are very few members within the Organization who are actually of pure ethnic race and culture... But culture does not matter to your Organization since the underworld is a global thing).

At least that's what your assigned identity's cover bullshit (profile) is. You had other stories to swallow and play out.

You were given this identity before you were deployed to do a long term assignment through this Family. The funny thing is... you were prepped for it for almost ten years of your life: you lived with your handler (your 'uncle') and his assignment partner (called a '**_doppelganger_**' [6] in the Organization's slang since whenever an operative like him shows up, somebody needs to be 'whacked'), training under him, role- playing that rather plain background story with him to make it as realistic and as unquestionable as possible to avoid any inconsistencies. (If ever the Family or any other outside party needed to make any background checks on you.)

Well, they won't turn up much. 'Your' so called 'plain' background story is boring according to their standard. They've seen more complicated family systems than 'yours'... Now if only they knew the truth about your real family system... wouldn't they be in for a shock?

But it's 'your' job history that may possibly be of interest to anyone... That's your assigned identity's 'real' story...

Though 'you' don't want to go into that yet.

Either way, you hate this kind of assignment.

Or at least you do at the moment; it all really depends on 'your' status is.

But right now, you hate it: It just takes **_too_** **_much_** time and entails **_too_** **_much_** work. It takes **_too_** **_much_** planning and takes **_too_** **_much_** of resources.

You know you should just take whatever comes your way as a good operative should.

You owe the Organization your best performance because of all that time and money spent on training you.

After all... the Organization doesn't let just **_anyone_** in; certain... **_requirements_** must be met. The selection of candidates for entry is a very rigorous, Spartan procedure. It's also very costly to train one to reach the caliber of an operative belonging to the Organization. It's worth more than the cost of raising a child, financially and otherwise.

The Organization is _also_ your **_TRUE _**home, your true Family. It's where you were _born_, **_raised_** and for certain where you will **_die_**... No quiet retirement; **_die_**.

As in _'in the line of duty'_ like 'your' parents before 'you'.

That is the Organization's curse. Some call it a jinx even.

A jinx... Hell, it **_must_** be, you thought ironically once.

But either way, your current assignment puts you in danger of becoming personal: it just **_takes_** and **_takes_** and **_takes_** **_too much_** until they've gotten everything you have out of you.

You say this about your work because you **_regularly_** and **_literally _**have to put your heart (or what's left of it) into it, put up the seemingly honest act (or as honest as one can be in the mafia business), a completely airtight farce that nobody the wiser would ever figure out unless you 'talk'.

You play the charade until you succeed in finally getting close enough to "whack", "pop", "burn", "ice" or "clip" [14] all of your contracts [16], whichever term your handler used when they gave you the assignment.

The exit plan (the "pull- out" [5] in the Organization's operative slang) is that when you're done: **_BANG_**, **_BOOM_**, **_CRASH_**, _cough_ and gasp- choke, roll your eyes into the back of your head; whichever is most convenient so you can easily "pull- out" and no one would be the wiser that 'you' didn't actually die.

That's your Organization's SOP; that's just how your work goes and that is how 'you' would end.

'You', right now, are that dispensable, random guy working in the back; the one who'll be completely overlooked by everyone else.

No one will notice 'you' missing.

Hell, they probably won't even remember your assigned identity's name.

However, you don't even know when you're able to make your "pull- out"... Though you suspect it might be very soon. Things are getting very sticky right now in this Family you've been assigned to after all.

But enough about you and the Organization for now.

You had something more important to think about.

You had been debating with yourself how 'you' were going to convince one of the _caporegime_ of the Family to let 'you' stay with or follow 'your' 'friend', wherever he planned to assign to him. (You had absently wondered a bit why the fireplace smelt like burnt hair.) You had a feeling that he'll willingly swallow whatever schmaltzy sob story you can come up with about the strong bond of "friendship" and "brotherhood" and some other cheesy sentimental crap that would never be tolerated within the Organization... For all its long history, it's a kind of association that doesn't pay you enough... (You don't even have vacations and or sick leave privileges).

In any case, your assignment came with a list.

You're working your way to erase every name on that list.

In the two years that you've been working inside this Family, you've met each face belonging to each name; learned all you could about each of them; saw each of their deeds up close, saw their blood drip and their faces make varying expressions when they realized that the hits on them had been carried out.

**_This_** particular one, you've clocking [15] for a little more than a month now: 'your' '_friend'_... He's supposed to be the last name on your list before you can finally "pull- out" and return home to the Organization.

He's very difficult to catch alone; one of those social types who can't seem to live without being surrounded by at least one or two people. Not to mention he's an annoying one, personality- wise: over- bearing, verbally abusive, always making 'you' into the stooge, all sorts of other crap you've had to take from this guy just to make him think 'you're' no threat to him... and he **_doesn't_** even work **_for_** this Family. (You, on the other hand, **_do_** work for this Family under orders from the Organization, there's a fine line of a difference between the two of you... He's from another mafia; **_you_** are **_not _**from a true mafia.)

You know **_exactly_** where he's from and what he's done and who he really works for.

But you don't care about the last part; it's the second thing about him that got that contract on his name.

In any case, you could **_NOT _**afford to let him slip by you; more than a month's hard work and of building up a rapport with the target will go to waste if he is suddenly carted off to some other half of the world. It would be yet another long, waste of time to wait before you can get a chance to whack him so you can move on to your next assignment.

Hell, enough about your damned contract for now; you were thinking about what you hate this kind of assignment...

Now where were you...? Oh, right...

Another thing you hate about these kinds of assignments is that they tend to have unexpected factors, roadblocks and detours, compromising circumstances and other whatnot that make it even more difficult for you to complete a "contract".

Now back to reality: 'you'd' been hanging out by the fireplace earlier, trying to warm 'yourself'. Outside, the mist after a raging storm covered the Sicilian Sea and made the inside of the seaside bungalow cold, like death.

Then out of the blue, 'you' were requested to look after one of the other members of the Family 'you've' entered.

Just a small favor, she said.

So now here 'you' are...

...In this _absurdly_ non- descript room.

This thing 'you're' doing right now, '_baby_- _sitting'_, you thought exasperatedly (but made sure not to show on 'your' face)... It is **_not_** supposed to be part of 'your' job.

**_How_** the Hell exactly did you get talked into doing things like this? Oh... **_right_**... You're playing the guy who willingly does favors for anyone as long as it's properly labeled as an "**_emergency_**"... You're also acting as the kind of guy who thinks it's rude to refuse a lady's request if she asks you politely... (No matter for which side she works for...)

You wondered what the Hell is up with this room.

It could definitely use some decoration, you thought.

You stood uncertainly beside the man 'you' were asked to look after for until she returned. To keep consistency with your assigned identity's personality traits, you put on an uncomfortable expression.

The silence between you and the only other occupant of the room was rather awkward.

You're very sure he doesn't know you from Adam, but you know him from his distant predecessors. (You've seen in only pictures the similarities he shared with Family's Quinto. You figured it was probably distant ancestry or something.)

Meanwhile, your leg ached dully from when 'you' were shot earlier.

You knew 'you' were blatantly disobeying doctor's orders but your current assignment was much more important at the moment.

It had been completely an accident, how 'you' got this leg injury. It was simply a case of 'you' being in the wrong place, at the wrong time and someone else's accidental interference.

While most would think that, you on the other hand berated yourself for being so idiotic and careless... **_How long _**have you **_been_** in the Organization? How could you still make a careless mistake? Just one twitch of a leg and 'you' would have avoided the shot altogether.

Ah, well... at least it gave 'you' an excuse to hang around your target more; with the pretense of needing assistance for maneuvering around obstacles.

Yet either way... The gun was not meant to go off on 'you' earlier.

Now the one responsible for loading it in the first place is in a most absurd manner of confinement. You had a feeling the other _caporegime_ had panicked and overreacted.

But that was all it was: a great string of bad luck and bad timing... and this man... this person you were requested to stand guard over for until she returned... He seemed to have had an awful lot of it last night.

You already know from previous experiences that when things go too well for you, it's time to be suspicious.

Karma can be a cruel thing... and **_you_** should know: you **_work_** with karma on a regular basis.

The silence in the room is still awkward.

You didn't speak to him.

**_Nor_** did you offer a sign to let him know 'you' were there.

You just stood, ignoring the aching in your leg, watching and perhaps waiting for a change in him while wearing that uncomfortable look that 'you're' supposed to wear for occasions like this.

Suddenly she was back.

She mouthed a quick apology to 'you' and asked that 'you' stay with him for a little while longer. She promised to come back and take him off 'your' hands; she just had to go to the kitchens for a bit.

You nodded quickly to let her know it was no trouble to 'you'; your leg was still protesting otherwise though.

She picked up the trays on the floor and quickly made her way out of the room. You listened to her footsteps disappear as she walked away on the hard, pine wood floor. So all you have to do now is act like a statue, be the only piece of decoration in this boring, near- empty room.

You still can't quite believe 'you' actually make a (second) living out of this.

Just then, he abruptly stood up from his seat.

He just as suddenly looked to the doorway, as if to see if there was anyone else in the room. When he seemed he was sure there was no one else, he turned to face 'you'.

"_Come si chiama_?" [7] He asked you in a hoarse whisper but surprisingly sounding all business- like. You tactfully forced 'yourself' not to stare too much in bewilderment (but the way he was dressed right now, you wouldn't think he should be speaking to you _neither_ in that tone **_nor_** in that manner).

'You' pretended not to understand his Italian immediately.

"**_Come si chaima?_**" He repeated, looking rather impatiently at you.

You then startled (as dictated by your identity's personality and position) and pretended to suddenly understand, stammering out your assigned identity's name.

"_Sieda_." [8] He said shortly, nodded to the spot he'd been sitting on earlier. "_Il vostro piedino non otterrà alcun migliore se continu aare levarti in piedi con esso ora_." [9]

_Sit. _He told you. _Your leg won't get any better if you keep standing with it right now._

"_S- Sì Signore_ ..." [10] 'You' immediately obeyed and sat, looking up at him wide- eyed and pretended to be puzzled (once more as dictated by your assigned identity).

"_Quanto tempo abbialo che lavorate per questa Famiglia_?" [11] He suddenly drilled 'you', still using that hoarse whisper. _How long have you been working for this Family? _He had asked.

You immediately recalled the information you knew about your assigned identity and you tried to estimate: part of your training was completed within this Family so... you replied 'you've' been serving the Family for almost five years. But that was only under the previous boss. 'You' were recently transferred to his successor's division sometime during the last month so, in a sense, 'you' were new.

That's not a complete lie. But either way, it's **_still_** a lie. If 'you' were really a true member of this family, 'you' should be shot... Generally speaking, lying to a member of the Family is against the Omérta... although the Organization disregards the common agreement of all mafias' definition of Omérta... No matter what other families agree upon, your Organization's kind of Omérta is the simple break of Omérta.

While 'you' waited for him to ask 'you' another question or do something else, you thought about how you really started working inside this Family: you were sent into this Family for a much larger number of years after fully completing your training under your current handler. Your first handler had been transferred to work in a different branch of the Organization so you were assigned to a different one (your current one) instead. She was definitely much stricter than the first one. She would not be happy to learn that you still got side- tracked because you were unlucky enough to be separated from your target after days of working to get within close proximity of him and get his trust.

Ah, once more, enough about your other day job.

You had to deal with this man; this _capo_ who suddenly 'interviewed' 'you' in a most incongruous situation first: he then asked 'you' what 'your' past positions within the Family in the duration 'you' had been employed under the previous boss were.

'You' gave him the complete list as an answer, stumbling over some names, while apologizing that 'your' _Italiano_ wasn't that perfect, pardon 'your' Spanish accent.

Do you understand Japanese then? He then asked 'you' in that particular language.

Yes, you do, 'you' replied. You noted that his enunciation had completely lost the Italian accent. You then waited if he would ask 'you' something else. It felt almost like an interrogation of sorts... and yet at the same time it felt like a job interview... albeit a rather strange and unconventional one...

You looked up at the man, frowning puzzled when he turned his back on 'you' and began to write on the vapor on the glass doors of his room.

He seemed to be thinking over something.

Then just as suddenly, he stopped writing on the glass.

Without turning around, he then asked once more what 'you' said 'your' name was... but he asked 'you' in Japanese again. You replied with 'your' assigned identity's full name this time.

Then to your surprise again, he recited a good deal of information about your assigned identity from memory: what 'your' current IQ is (114, 'your' assigned identity is of average intelligence, bordering on the high average rank), what particular skills 'you' possessed, what areas are 'you' competent in, what are 'your' good and bad points (good: 'you' have common sense and don't panic too easily; bad: 'you're' a bit slow by 1.85463345 seconds on the information uptake, but that's remediable, and that 'you're' a little naïve sometimes), what types of jobs 'you'd' carried out before and why exactly 'you' were transferred from the Ninth's to the Tenth's.

... _Huh_... He'd read up on 'you', your assigned identity, before he even met 'you'. He must have done that sometime before you were all taken to this place, possibly the day before yesterday. That was quite impressive: he would have made a good operative for the Organization if he hadn't joined this Family first. He certainly had the qualifications to be one of your Organization's breed of hit men.

"I especially requested for the transfer of men like you for your grasp of Japanese." He explained. "You are aware that the Boss was not completely fluent in Italian?"

Yes, you were. No, 'you' weren't.

He returned to writing on the glass while 'you' waited patiently. It was probably a precaution of sorts against eavesdropping passers- by. When he finished, he rapped on the glass once to indicate that 'you' read what was written on it: _'But are you also aware that I'm recruiting for capable and competent subordinates to form a crew of my own under the late Boss' orders?'_ written in Japanese...

"No, _Signore_..." 'You' answered, pretending to be uninformed. But in reality you were aware; you learned about it from a dead man. He quickly wrote out another set of characters on the glass: _'You're almost done with the candidates' selection interview,'_

In summary, 'you' have the right qualifications and with a little stricter training, 'you' would make a suitable member for his crew. He must have seen that there was no need for the full interview and or he was trying to beat the time it would take for her to return to the room.

'You' put on a bewildered look for the benefit of keeping up pretenses just in case he turned around. Another rap on the glass and your assumptions were confirmed: _'There is no time so I'll give you the last question of the selection of candidates' interview: 'what would you do if the Boss was shot and even **I **myself am unable to help him?''_

'You' pretended to wrinkle your forehead in puzzlement before opening your mouth with the intent of answering. But he suddenly cut you off: "I don't need to hear your hypothetical answer; I've already had the real life observation." He was referring to when you gave the Boss improvised first aid yesterday. "You pass the interview and you may take the initiation. We don't have the luxury of time or resources right now but I'm still offering you the choice: **_Do you wish to take it?_**"

'You' nodded once and answered that 'you' would.

"How far are you willing to go for this Family?" He then asked.

You gave him 'your' answer; recited perfectly from memory...

...Word for word, including every single mispronunciation and stutter. Just as how you were trained to deliver it... before 'you' were sent to this Family... Just in case 'you' were suddenly asked that question.

As expected, it's **_exactly_** what he wants to hear.

He then turned to face 'you' wearing a grim expression on his face. "The one who helped you when you got shot earlier... Is he a friend of yours?" He asked 'you' suddenly. He was referring to the _Mafioso_ who helped carry you into the car after you were accidentally shot in the leg while traveling; 'your' 'friend'.

'You' replied 'No, _Signore_,' and that 'you' didn't consider the two of yourselves _'friends'._ 'You' thought of yourselves as simply work associates.

"Is that so?" He frowned. Then he asked how long has **_he_** been working in the Family.

You replied **_he_** had been "made" much more recently than yourself. He had been reassigned to the old boss' successor for the same reason as 'yourself'. But he helped 'you' get settled in when 'you' were transferred together.

(You didn't tell him but he dragged 'you' around the place for show, like a stand- up comedy pair, but he would occasionally treat 'you' like a little kid brother (both bullying and platonic 'friendship'). Personally, you found him annoying; but 'you' didn't say that aloud though. You aren't supposed to let your personal opinions interfere with either of 'your' work in the Family **_or_** with your work in the Organization.)

"Do you know why I am asking you all of this?" He asked you, looking piercingly, as if to test you. You frowned to show that 'you' realized he was talking business here: he wanted 'you' to do something about 'your' 'friend'.

"Is he... '**_A problem_**' [20]... _Signore?_" 'You' asked, making it sound like a question of puzzlement. If you are thinking along the same lines as him then this meeting is quite a good piece of timing for you.

"Yes, he's '_a problem_'." He affirmed your assumptions. "Now I want you to do a piece of work [14] for your initiation. If you burn him in less than an hour and a half, then you become a part of my crew."

'_What ridiculously high standards..._' You thought. '**_But_**_... doable._' If you were at your hundred percent you could easily do it in less than five minutes. The Organization trains its operatives to do things as quick as possible without drawing too much attention.

You immediately understood, as a _Mafiosi _of this Family, that he was ordering 'you' to carry out a contract **_right now_**. As an operative from the Organization, this was the chance you were waiting for. You no longer had to worry about making a too complicated cover- up for 'burning' your target. Under normal circumstances, this contract would be an "off the record" [21] one... But you are **_not_** in normal circumstances... For now, _this_ man is in charge; therefore the contract is "on the record" [22].

You had a feeling he hasn't told the other _caporegime_ about this. Then you figured that didn't matter to him at the moment; he **_is_**,****after all, one of the Family's administration [24]: the **_capo bastone_**. [18]

'You' pretended to appear to consider things first. You let him watch 'you' for a bit; let him wonder if 'you' are still willing to work for him, to join his crew.

"Do I use a piece [25], _Signore_?" 'You' finally asked him as a clarification of 'your' orders; to keep up with pretenses. It was also test of sorts on your part to check his soundness of mind.

"You won't want to wake up the other residents of this house," He replied. 'You' nodded in understanding; of course he would say that. You now have nothing to doubt about his sanity. He still retained his common sense: a top- class _hit man's_ common sense.

"As soon as you leave this room, your exam starts." He told to you quietly. You glanced at your watch. Then your eyes traveled on the edge of 'your' jacket sleeve that slightly covered it.

Well now, you have a 'somewhat' good idea how to fulfill your contract... Suddenly you heard another tap on the glass: '_He has a white- gray tube with him. Bring that tube to me after you've taken care of him.'_ He had written.

"I gather that you're a stand- up guy. [23]" He said to 'you' suddenly. You looked up to see him looking stonily at 'you'. You found yourself thinking that he has the same eyes as his dead boss... Those kinds of eyes never change; no matter what pupil color or they are or race, you thought. Those are the eyes of a man who is willing to throw everything away to create a means to an end.

For you, this confirmed that he has not told the other _caporegime_ of his status.

He was probably worried that 'you' would rat him out to _him_ **_and_** the_ capo crimini _[19] of the Family's ally instead of immediately obeying his orders. So you affirmed for him that 'you' are.

He seemed satisfied with 'your' (scripted) answer once more. (The Organization has predicted his behavior uncannily well.)

"Under no circumstances are you to tell anyone else what you're doing." He told 'you' sternly. 'You' frowned a little bit at this (as dictated by your assigned personality again). But if he ordered it to be carried out alone, then 'you' as a _Mafioso_,would carry it out alone.

...Also... Your handler from the Organization would most likely have a bitchy fit if you fucked up a contract **_now_** after all these years you've lived in this Hellhole (the mafia). You were meant to do this kind of work alone in the first place anyway; long, long, _long_ before this man even gave you this 'new' contract.

"Failure is not an option for us right now. Make sure to keep it quiet and our hands 'out of it'." He told 'you' seriously. Once more, he turned his back on you and began to quickly draw seemingly random shapes and squiggles to cover up the writings he'd made on the vapor fogging the glass.

Suddenly you caught sight of her, peering into the room.

'You' abruptly stood up from 'your' seat (and feeling a shot of pain in your leg) to alert him of her arrival. You also faked a rather panicky expression on 'your' face for her to see. 'You' then muttered under 'your' breath a warning for him to be wary: the only other _Mafioso _from 'your' Family 'fell asleep' sometime after dinner and never 'woke up' again, if he got 'your' drift.

He kept his face from betraying it but you knew he understood perfectly well what you meant. He must have realized that already too.

'You' then bowed to him respectfully (taking care to make 'yourself' look clumsy; blame it on 'your' leg) before 'you' took your leave. She went inside the room at that moment, carrying one of the trays and looking rather unperturbedly at him.

You looked over your shoulder and found yourself hoping he would somehow pull through for the sake of the family. Even though your true loyalties belong elsewhere, you could not deny that this family **_still_** **_did_** take care of 'you'.

Then 'you' limped off to find your 'friend': you had a previous contract on him from the Organization to fulfill. That was why 'you' were close to him, clocking him, in the first place.

Now that you had two official contracts for him, it was all the more reason that you 'burn' him as soon as possible.

You quietly made your way as fast as you could. It was really a bother that 'you' had gotten shot in the leg. You originally planned to take your target far away from the Family, maybe during 'your' weekend drinking sessions; fake a drunken argument and 'shoot each other dead'.

_That_ should also have been your "pull- out" strategy... You had orders to return to the Organization right after you completed your last contract.

"Where the fuck you've been?" Your 'friend' looked up when 'you' appeared in the doorway of the room 'you' shared with him. 'You' grinned sheepishly, before offering him your carefully hastily concocted 'poor excuse'.

"I was at the lounge... using the fireplace. It's real damn cold, you know." You replied as 'you' limped inside.

"Fuck, kid, you know you're supposed to be in bed; the docs said you shouldn't be moving around with that leg." He frowned as he fussed over you. It was **_him_** that arm holding that gun was aiming at so in a way he was the reason you got shot...

"Hey Fel... You think this Family's going to last till the end of this?" You asked as 'you' pulled 'your' jacket off so 'you' could get dressed for bed.

"In **_this _**fucking war?" Your 'friend' scoffed. "Hell, I don't **_think_** so. You _saw_ the acting boss; he was fucking _loony_. I mean, **_look_** at what he did to your leg."

_'Well, he looked and acted pretty sane to me... And for good reason, rat.'_ You thought as you hummed a bit and limped over to the bathroom, carrying your jacket. You deliberately draped it in the sink and washed 'your' face, letting the water run and soaking 'your' jacket completely. You also plugged the drain on purpose as well ('you' had done it as an accident).

Soon the water had filled the little sink and began to run all over the floor.

"Oh, fuck!" You pretended to swear and startle. 'You' picked up the wet garment and held it up in plain view. Your friend stood up from his bed and went over to see what was wrong.

"You dimwit," He scolded when he saw the mess you made. "There's a hook for hanging your shit behind the door, _didn't you see?_" He scowled, referring to the hook screwed behind the bathroom door.

"Sorry, sorry!" You said sheepishly again as 'you' quickly twisted 'your' jacket to wring out the water in it. "I'm really sorry, Fel!" Your 'friend' then reached over and took a long length of toilet paper. He pushed 'you' back a bit toward the shower to make 'you' move out of the way.

Then sure enough, you saw that hook screwed a little higher than your own height behind the door. He had pushed it a little closed so he could mop up the water that had gotten behind it.

Your 'friend' clucked his tongue and shook his head as he cleaned up the water. "Christ, how does a klutzy idiot like you survive for so long in this business anyway?" He asked, turning his back on 'you' to turn off the water. You shrugged in response when he frowned at 'you' in the bathroom mirror.

But you knew perfectly well why '_klutzy idiot_' had survived for so long: you **_exist_** for the Organization's cause.

Before he could turn around and scold 'you' again, you quickly threw the twisted jacket around his neck, looping and twisting it in a certain way to act like a noose.

Of course he cursed and struggled; his hands had moved to try and pry the makeshift noose of his neck: "**_GAAACCKK!! _**_What... are- you... doing?!_"

You pulled and twisted with all your might.

To suffocate him.

"Six years ago, there was a young girl; you were one of those who burned down her house, shot her mother and her babies." You hissed at him. "_Do you remember her?_"

He struggled and you had to wrestle with him a bit. "**_Do you?_**"

"_What... you _talking-?" He still struggled against you as you dragged him over to the back of the door. A few more minutes of struggle_..._

You then tightened your noose a bit more. "Think **_long_** and think **_hard_**. She's the one who gave you that scar on your arm; before you killed her. **_Do you remember now?_**"

**_Finally_**, a look of recognition from him.

One- third of a second passed... You held him in that position; letting him face the bathroom mirror. His eyes widened when he saw in it your real face.

Then a look of horror when he realized who and what you really are.

"... _en**- guurk-**_" Then some more choking gurgles_... _By this time, he was already weakening, you noticed. You then bodily heaved him upward, hanging 'your' jacket on hook he had told 'you' about earlier, 'for hanging your shit', ignoring the painful protest of your leg.

You kept your grip on the wet cloth firm as you watched him turn blue in the face.

_Blue_.

Then pale.

You tightened hold on your noose... and twisted it a little more to choke the last bit of oxygen out of him. Then you transferred the other end of the twisted garment to your right hand. You then shifted the noose to make his body slip down a bit.

You heard him choke once again and he stared at you in shock and disbelief in his last dying moments.

"..._ri...o..._" He struggled to speak but you tightened his noose again before he could utter your assigned identity's name.

In a matter of a few seconds, he was completely dead.

Who's the idiot, you thought. He lost to human instinct. If he wanted to have that noose loosened, he should have instead struck out at the source of the force on it instead clutching at his neck. You already had your leg for a handicap. He was _babbo_ [26] for panicking and failing to take advantage of it.

You then loosened the makeshift noose.

After lowering the corpse on to the floor, you carried; half- dragged it over to the shower. The water you had spill on to the floor acted as a lubricant to let you drag the body with a little more ease. You removed the make- shift noose and activated a special Sun attribute healing box you had in your pocket to deal with the bruise marks left on the corpse's throat. That box had been given to you by your second handler, your 'mother', as a gift before being transferred to work for the late Boss.

Once you propped him up to sit in a corner, you then looked into the medicine cabinet for a shaving razor and perhaps a pair of gloves to use. Fortunately you found what you needed in the cabinet and in the first aid kit on top of it.

You then limped back to the shower booth where you left the body while putting on the latex gloves. Holding the razor with practiced steadiness, you slashed the corpse's wrists.

Then you stepped out of the shower booth and turned on the water, letting the spray mix and scatter the blood, letting the red flow into the drain. Looking at the razor, you estimated a plausible distance where it could be dropped to make it look like it had been left there by accident.

Then you dropped the blade on the floor. It made no sound as it fell onto the tiles, floated and carried by the running water to stop, stuck, at the drain, the blood streaming from it in faint smoke- like ribbons in the water.

You would have to make up a new cover story for this "contract": 'your' 'friend' could be easily ruled as suicide; 'you' were never in the room when he killed himself because 'you' had spent the night warming yourself by the fireplace in the lounge outside and had fallen asleep there. You had already invented a lie about him having such commendable loyalty and devotion to the boss: he was distraught when he died but he was **_such_** **_an_** **_expert_** at keeping his emotions hidden that 'you' never knew the difference... and you had proof; other _Mafiosi_ from the Italy base could vouch for it; that was the farce he'd been pulling the whole time he had been working in the family.

That was what you planned to say, just in case anyone asked you if you knew anything at all. You would play the naïve, unassuming, nice guy role; maybe cry a bit over loosing your 'big brother', 'your' _senpai_ to conceal your hand (and the _capo bastone's _involvement) in it. 'Your' alibi would be the maid who went in and out the room... or perhaps not... You would have to work on that bit a little more... The maid might not actually be a good means to make an alibi...

You then looked at the wet, bloody corpse again. The amount of blood spilt on the floor should be enough, you decided.

You turned off the shower then dragged the body (with some difficulty from your leg) out of the bathroom and back into the shared bedroom. The blood trailed after you, smearing on the carpeted floor. The corpse' weight erased the impressions of your foot prints on the carpet as you dragged it along.

Still dragging- carrying the corpse, you pulled the blankets off the bed and hauled it on to it, arranging it in such a way to look like he was asleep.

You frowned a little bit and patted down the pants pockets of the dead man... Sure enough, there was that tube that had caused him all that trouble with the _capo bastone _in the first place.

You then tried to dislodge it from its hiding place ('_Fuck, why does this damn pocket have to be so narrow?_' You wondered). Making a bit of an irritated frown, you unbuckled the corpse's belt and unzipped its pants so you could get the tube out of the pocket a little easier.

_'Got it_.'

You looked curiously at the tube and wondered what had gotten the _capo bastone_ so worked up over it for.

There **_had_** to be a reason.

You made a mental note to yourself to ask him later in the guise of the normal rookie's eagerness to learn the tricks of the trade. 'You' had already been established for being 'naïve' already; you could be humored and forgiven for it later.

Once you finished fixing the corpse's pants again, you then looked down at 'yourself' with disgust. The _babbo's_ blood still spilt on 'yourself' despite your best efforts not to make a mess. You had only meant for the blood to get in the shower and trail from there toward the bed.

_'You klutzy idiot..._' You scolded yourself, unwittingly using the insult the dead man had given 'you' before you acted to fulfill the contract taken out on him.

Grumbling about having to change your clothes again, you pulled off your button- up shirt before you unbuttoned and unzipped your pants. You don't care that the corpse is facing you; seemingly staring without shame, watching you struggle to dress 'yourself' with some difficulty from 'your' leg.

You had been around corpses far too long and too often to think that they have no respect for privacy.

'The corpses are just simply corpses and respect is to be earned...' that was what your handlers drilled into you: your completed contracts were people who had no respect for those they had killed and hurt; give them their due; eye for an eye. _They do not merit your respect._

The dead man's eyes were still open and certainly did not look like he was asleep. Frowning, you slid the eyelids closed with your cleaner latex- covered fingers to keep from leaving prints on the corpse again.

Then quietly, you then pulled off your bloody socks and slipped on the pajamas lying on the bed 'you' were provided with. 'You' also provided with a new set of clothes for when you would leave this place in the morning but thought it would reinforce your alibi of spending the night sleeping in the lounge by the fireplace if you left them alone.

"Good night." You called out cheerfully (in that same unassuming tone of voice 'you' were dictated to use), just in case there was anyone passing in the corridor outside your room. You looked at the corpse and narrowed your eyes in a cold, unfeeling glare. "You really gave me a Hell of a time trying to clip you."

You frowned down at the corpse, remembering a woman's screaming and gunshots, smoke, fire, smells of blood and vomit, all as if from a distant nightmare you never had.

Almost as soon as that memory surfaced, it quickly faded away.

It was no longer yours. The contract was fulfilled and her retribution accordingly delivered. '_Resto nella pace, signora._' You thought. [12]

"I guess I'll see **_you_** in Hell." You looked down at the corpse before pocketing the tube. Then you pulled up the blanket over the dead man... taking care to set everything up to look like he was asleep to any ordinary observer. You then took a storage box out of the drawer where you've kept your personal belongings for the night.

You limped back into the bathroom, carrying your old clothes and turned on the shower again. You were after all setting up your alibi for your 'friend's' suicide.

You then took off the gloves and gathered 'your' blood- stained clothes, bundling them together. You couldn't afford to change the corpse's clothes either; 'your' fingerprints would be all over them.

You then charged the storage box to open. You don't need to shape a Dying Will Flame in your mind; you always **_have_** a resolution. All operatives belonging to the Organization have a fixed unwavering resolution; part of your training is to control that resolution, to make it waver and fluctuate if need be. It is yet another thing that set the Organization apart from the normal common underground groups: be resolved to die; be resolved that you could get caught; be resolved to bring retribution for all those wronged; be resolved to **_never_** get caught... be... oh, what the Hell... There were several others drilled into your head in order for you to maintain a resolution; all of them making up your Organization's 'Omérta'.

You'd learned all of that in your training from the Organization to keep pretenses. Before your deployment you were given orders to fake struggling with 'your' resolution while in 'your' training in this Family.

So you did.

You faked working hard to produce 'your' flames and at the right time, proved to 'your' superiors that 'you' had what it took to be one of their 'made men' [27] and earned 'your' ring and boxes from this Family.

But right now... All you needed to do was just put on a ring. Flames of your wave energy immediately flared out from it and opened the storage box. You quickly, silently stowed the clothes inside and sealed it. You would have to dispose of them somewhere else. It would be too dangerous to use the incinerator in the fireplace inside the lounge. The ring you used immediately shattered, disintegrated into dust, into nothingness after the flame died out.

Then all of a sudden you entered what your handlers and other operatives called 'the blank slate state': a new memory taking the place of the one that repeated over and over in your mind; almost like an obsession while you hunted this one down.

You blinked once and suddenly you knew the new name and face... he belonged to another Family, one that completely has nothing to do with the one you are in now nor the ones they are allied with or warring with...

That meant you would have to, once more; figure out on your own how to get to your new contracts... your new assignment list...

_Sigh... _

This is _another _reason why you hate assignments like these.

You looked into the mirror and willed yourself to keep your face for a little while longer. The Organization's curse is particularly tricky to control after all.

But you decided to put aside your thinking as the Organization's operative for later... There's plenty of time for it. You're in no hurry to burn contracts after all.

For now, you had to start thinking as a _Mafioso_ of the Family again.

Seeing as 'you've' fulfilled the contract in less than an hour and a half and no one had come investigating (attributed for the lack of noise), 'you've' basically passed the _capo bastone's '_practical exam'.

Well, it's a given that 'you' are to report to 'your' new superior that the contract was fulfilled. Without a doubt, he would expect 'you' to return to him and receive his next instructions.

You're sure he doesn't trust 'you' enough yet.

But that's alright.

You'd rather keep it that way.

Trusting someone too much in this business is what gets you killed in the first place.

Without a second glance at your 'friend', you then limped out of the bathroom and made to return to the _capo bastone's _ridiculously empty room. The morning sun may not have made an appearance yet but, _Hell_, it's the beginning of just another day in the life of a run of the mill operative of the Organization.

**TRASMISSIONE DELLA LIMA DI ARCHIVIO CLASSIFICATA 001 COMPLETA**

* * *

**VONGOLA FAMIGLIA DATABASE INFORMATION LOG:**

NEW 'HURRICANE 59' MEMBER AQCUIRED

(PROMOTED DIRECTLY FROM NEW RECRUIT LEVEL: "_BREEZE_" TO INITIATED MEMBER: "_TYPHOON_"; INITIATION/PRACTICAL EXAM- PASSED; FURTHER TRAINING POSTPONED INDEFINITELY)

* * *

**V-ORG OPERATIVE MISSION LOG:**

INFILTRATION OF VONGOLA MAFIA COMPLETE

V- ORG HIT LIST: COMPLETE; OPERATIVE'S SCHEDULED "PULL- OUT" POST- PONED FOR UNTIL CIRCUMSTANCES ARE IN FAVOR

OPERATIVE STATUS: SLIGHT INCAPACITATION; TO RECEIVE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS FROM VONGOLA CAPO BASTONE/ HURRICANE 59 CAPOREGIME

* * *

**"Omérta**** Break" System Administrator's Notes****:** I for my part don't think Tsuna's Guardians would be personally doing the 'dirty work' (what the Hell is the use of having 5000+ subordinates/underlings all around the world if you're just going to do 'those' jobs yourself?). They probably have crews of their own and won't do 'certain things' themselves unless it is a total and absolute last resort.

I've seen several stories where they're the doing the common button- men's jobs and they really don't make any sense to me. I just really don't see Tsuna or any of his Guardians undertaking those kinds of jobs like _common_, _dispensable hit men_; especially if they're the ones at the top of the chain of command in a large organized crime structure. It does **_not_** make sense: that's like having the company CEO do the garage security guard's job.

The guy I wrote using second perspective was named in "T.R.R.o.R." Rewrite 02 and 03 by the way. That scene with the guy being called to look after the _capo _was partly shown in Rewrite 04 but it wasn't as detailed as the one here.

(By the way, I checked him for a Mary Sue with this: [**h t t p : / / w w w . s p r i n g h o l e . n e t / q u i z z e s / m a r y s u e . h t m**] and his score is a **19**. (NOTE: the info about his assigned identity is not counted because it **_isn't_** his real story) He's **_safe_**, Mary- Sue haters; but he still probably got that score because of the weird Dying Will Flame and box weapon fad in the TYL arc of the KHR! Universe and the crazy high standards the _capo bastone_ (you should know who this is by now, if you read "T.R.R.o.R.") set for recruitment of members for Hurricane 59.) For the first story, he'll be the first protagonist. However, the story is still connected to 'T.R.R.o.R.". This is a part of that story told in his perspective.

[**Update 08/30/2008:** I took the test for him again and made sure I paid better attention to the questions; he turned up with the score of **15**. He's _still_ safe. But now he's almost boring. He only becomes interesting when I add in details of his 'assigned identity'.]

In case you didn't understand the file attachment labels, here's the translation:

* * *

**STARTING UP V-ORG CLASSIFIED ARCHIVE FILE DATABASE**

**ACCESSING VONGOLA DATABASE**

**BYPASSING TSUNA-M1 FIREWALL SECURITIES**

**LOADING...**

**20.82748927 PERCENT COMPLETE...**

**LOADING ... **

**LOADING V- ORG OP SETTINGS...**

**LOADING... **

**68.62473942 PERCENT COMPLETE...**

**LOADING... **

**98.60024242 PERCENT COMPLETE...**

**INTEGRATION INTO VONGOLA FAMIGLIA ARCHIVE FILE TRANSMISSION SYSTEM COMPLETE**

**STANDBY FOR TRANSMISSION OF CLASSIFIED ARCHIVE FILE 001**

**Time:** 01:40:02 AM

**Location:** _Access denied_

**Note:** _Accesso denied_

**Archive Summary:** Operation Rat Killer

**Archive File Status:** _Downloading 86.38534532 percent complete..._

**BEGIN TRANSMISSION OF CLASSIFIED ARCHIVE FILE 001**

_Blahblahblah..._This is the actual narration/ story, etc. If you've read my stuff before then you already know the drill...

**TRANSMISSION OF CLASSIFIED ARCHIVE FILE 001 COMPLETE**

* * *

_Hmm... _This looks like the Vongola database has been_ **hacked**... **but by who?**_ XD

Now for the usual notes, miscellaneous translations and info!

**Dovere, Lealtà, Servizio e Morte: **(Italian) Duty, Loyalty, Service and Death

**[1] You & [2] 'You': **You without the apostrophes refer to the operative as himself. 'You' with apostrophes refer to the operative's "assigned identity". You is nameless while 'you' has a name. Think you got it now?

**[3] The Organization:** "The Organization" exists in the canon KHR! (I did not make up their existence, just the Organization's structure and the other purposes for its existence); I just used a different point of reference (an undercover operative's POV). Undercover operatives would of course not name who they're really working for, so the group is only referred to as "The Organization". There's just not much known about this group and I don't see anybody writing about them as the focal point in stories.

I don't know what they really do exactly or if the only thing that they are shown doing in the canon _manga_ and anime is just the **_only_** thing they do in the canon KHR! Story.

**[4] "The blank slate state":** (non- canon) Members of "The Organization" use this as slang for the status of operatives who have not been given assignments yet or are about to be deployed into the outside.

**[5] "Pull- Out": **(non- canon) Slang for faking death, an exit strategy for the Organization's operatives so that they can disappear without suspicion.

**[6] "Doppelganger": **according to legend if you see a doppelganger, someone who looks like you, it means that you will die soon. A "doppelganger" in the Organization is an operative's assignment partner; the doppelganger provides the alibi for one operative. This is for instances where the operative himself needs to leave and carry out a contract. The doppelganger switches with him/her so no one notices the operative himself/herself is actually missing.

**Italian Lesson [c/o Yahoo Babelfish]**

**[7] **"**_Come si chiama?_**_"_**: **[Italian] What is your name?

**[8] **"**_Sieda_**." & **[9] **"**_Il vostro piedino non otterrà alcun migliore se continu aare levarti in piedi con esso ora_**_"_**: **[Italian] 'Sit.' and 'Your leg won't get any better if you keep standing with it right now.'

**[10] **"**_S- Sì Signore..."_:** [Italian] Y- Yes Sir

**[11] **"**_Quanto tempo abbialo che lavorate per questa Famiglia?_**_"_**:**[Italian] How long have you been working for this Family?

**[12] **"**_Resto nella pace, signora._**"**: **[Italian] Rest in peace, madam.

**Mafia Speak/ Slang:**

**[13] **"**Get a place ready**"**:** Find a burial site.

**[14] **"**Do a piece of work"; "whack", "pop", "burn", "ice", "clip":** to murder, to kill

**[15] **"**Clocking**"**: **keeping track of someone's movements and activities.

**[16] **"**Contract**"**: **"an assassination job; an order to kill"

**[17]** **_Caporegime_****: **A lieutenant or someone who heads a "crew" typically made up of ten men or more.

**[18] _Capo bastone_****: **Underboss.

**[19] _Capo _****_crimini_****: **Boss

**[20] **"**A problem**"**: **a liability or a dangerous association; someone likely to be 'whacked'.

**[21] **"**Off the record": **an act taken without the knowledge or authorization of the boss and or the Family

**[22] "On the record": **an act authorized by the boss and or the Family

**[23] "Stand- up guy": **Someone who will not rat out the Family, no matter what pressure or threat on their life.

**[24] **"**Administration**"**: **The upper- level power structure of Family (The boss or _capo crimini_, the underboss or _capo bastone_, and the advisor or _consigliore_.

**[25] **"**Piece": **A gun

**[26] **"**_Babbo_": **idiot, dope, useless underling.

**[27] **"**Made Men**"**:** Mafia member; _Mafiosi_

* * *

For continued archive file transmission connection:

1. Click the submit review button for (Y)

2. Click the Return to Top at the bottom of the page for (N) and reread the whole thing.

I did not plan to tell what happened in the safe house until much, much later... but then I noticed (long, long, long after "T.R.R.o.R." went online) that this character's placements in the story are just too perfect for him to become a plot device so... 8D


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